Wrong side of the world

“Must’ve woken up on the wrong side of the bed”. What if, instead of devising which side of the mattress is more convenient to stand up from, we realized we wake up daily on the wrong side of the planet?

A French friend posted an article on Facebook yesterday talking about how more and more of her compatriots are choosing to leave their country in search of better horizons. I wondered – thinking of how beautiful life in France seemed to me who’s always felt stuck in a country I’ve never deemed comfortable – how differently we each perceive the places that aren’t “ours”. It’s a beautiful thing to witness the traditions and customs of various cultures, and I’ve pondered several times the idea that maybe the multiple immigrated masses are, by making this mixture possible, contributing to the annihilation of separate identities and creating a cosmopolitan world with the qualities intrinsic to each country slowly becoming a vague historical memory. Notwithstanding how sad this makes me feel, thinking of how the idiosyncrasies of the world will someday be obsolescent notions of the past, a part of me knows we aren’t all meant for the soil we took our first steps on, and that however patriotic one wants to be, the impossibility of identifying by force with a culture or population too different from one’s natural inclinations make immigration a much more plausible solution than brainwashing oneself in order to fit into a carcass evidently inadequate. It isn’t easy, leaving, looking back and acknowledging that our past is just that: passed. It is however a healthier alternative in the long run to becoming a disillusioned adult forcedly accepting a future too different from the one we envisioned as hopeful children.

“Your future awaits” they tell the kids, but what awaits us in the future when we accept the things we know are not made for us? What becomes of those who stay when every atom of their being urges them to go?

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